My Head is Full of Wriggling Fish and Other Reflections October 4, 2009

I just survived my first week of grad school.  I’m not trying to be dramatic or anything – survived really does feel like the right word to use here.  Two weeks ago I was dreaming of what it would be like when classes started.  I pictured myself in an Argyle sweater with a thermos of English breakfast tea in my hand, walking across campus with fallen leaves on the ground and squirrels bounding through them in the crisp fall weather.  I pictured myself taking notes in Systematic Theology 1 and debating hot topics in Ethics.

What I didn’t picture was every spare second of my life being crammed with studying, or this overwhelming sensation of being thoroughly humbled by my own incompetence and lack of coping skills.  I think part of the difficulty is that I went from not having a very full schedule, and not being a student for over 3 years, to suddenly having a packed schedule and being in a rigorous graduate studies program.  You know that illustration of desensitization, how if you put a frog in a pot of water and slowly heat it, he’ll think he’s relaxing in a Jacuzzi instead of being cooked to death?  Well, there was no easing in process for me here – a pot of water was brought to a rolling boil and I was thrown in.  Of course my first instinct would be to leap the hell out of that pot.

Sigh.  You probably think you’ve read this before.  You know why?  Because this is what I always sound like after my first week in a new place!  Expectations are unmet, I am face to face with all of my weaknesses and disturbing tendency toward anxiety-filled meltdowns.  Then after a couple of weeks I settle in, find a routine, stop taking myself so seriously, and begin to love what I’m doing.  For someone who continues to put herself in new, out-of-comfort-zone situations, I really have surprisingly poor coping skills.

Alas, alack, it is me in all my under-construction glory.  I’ve been thinking a lot this week about how the Scriptures say that as a father has compassion on his children, God has compassion on us – he remembers that we’re frail and weak and doesn’t despise us for it.  This truth has been a sweet companion to me when I’m doing things like forgetting my shoes when I go to the Rose Bowl to go running.  Even though I want to beat myself up about it, Jesus just kind of grins and says, “Well, that was funny.  Let’s move on.”  In the nicest possible way, of course.

So back to Fuller.  Although busy and way more work than I anticipated, I think I’m going to love it here.  My classes are so good, and I’m like on code red nerd alert because I’m finding it difficult to skim my texts because they are just so interesting.  Hopefully that means I’m in the right place.  Here are a few reflections/insights on my first days here:

What’s crazy is that some of the things I’m learning are completely different than what I learned at the bible college where I did my undergrad.  I’m reading these texts that say, “For many years everyone thought this way on an issue, but now people are starting to think this way.”  And I’m always in the old school of thought.  Sometimes the new perspectives being taught are so different than anything I’ve known that I feel like there is this little man inside my mind pushing at its walls to expand it.  Weird, but cool.  A lot of people say that Fuller is super liberal, but I’m not afraid of that.  I feel like being exposed to all these different views is causing my mind to be more pliable and stretchable – I want my mind and my belief system to be less like a metal box holding a bunch of set truths and more like a flexible, woven net that can hold all these new concepts like a bunch of slippery wriggling fish.  Right?

All summer I’ve been like, oh I love theology so much and blah blah blah!  But then last week I sat down with my theology textbook and thought, holy crap.  This is tough.  I’ve been watching theology as some type of beautiful dance, and sometimes I’ve swayed a little to the music, but never really gotten in there to learn with the dancers.  And now here I am in a school of theology, and what’s made to look easy is turning out to be frustratingly full of complicated steps.  That’s always how it is when you first learn a dance…I’m excited for the day that I know the steps and can enter in with my whole self, and enjoy the dance without clenched jaw and furrowed brow, and make it look easy to everyone else.

At the Festival of Beginnings chapel the other day, Fuller’s president, Dr. Mouw, quoted Simone Weil as saying, “Christ likes us to prefer truth to him because, before being Christ, he is truth. If one turns aside from him to go toward the truth, one will not go far before falling into his arms.”  He said it’s a provocative quote, but I guess I like my quotes provocative because I loved it.  It gave words to how I feel right now, standing on a hill about to run down into a valley of truth and knowledge and a lot of stuff mixed in.  I’m not afraid of having my beliefs challenged or even flipped on their backs because in the past couple of years I have decided that everything will rest on one belief: that God is good, and faithful, and true.  I do believe that in my search for truth, I’ve found Jesus; and in my search for God, I’ve found truth.  I’ve experienced firsthand how truth brings freedom, so I say at the beginning of this adventure, with hope and joy: further up and further in!

I’ve Been Fullered September 24, 2009

I’m starting grad school this month at Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena.  We had our first day of orientation yesterday and by 5pm, I felt like I had been chewed up and spit out.  In a good way…?  Seriously, though, even though I was thoroughly exhausted, I was also exhilarated.  I think the through-the-wringer feeling came from the fact that my life is switching gears really suddenly and fast, without slowing down first.  I feel it inside, like I’ve been running at full speed in one direction and then switch, and all my insides lurch behind the rest of my body half a second later.

I’m such a sucker for welcome week activities.  During the convocation ceremony I felt so pumped up by all the speeches about learning and becoming scholars and theologians.  After the panel discussions, lunch with faculty, and conversations with other students yesterday, I get the feeling that I’m a small fish in a big pond.  I was stripped of any last bit of pride I may have had in my own theological or scholarly aptitude.  It’s the first day of kindergarten, junior high, college all over again, realizing I’m not much further along than anyone else.  But I didn’t come here to show off how smart I am.  I came to be challenged and to learn; to get out of my own blend of Foursquare-YWAM-Anne Lamott-C.S. Lewis-Erwin McManus theology and see things from new angles.

Yesterday there seemed to be a theme of the day – preparing for one’s Ph.D. program.  Wait, really?  Yes, everyone’s already pushing us past the finish line 2 years from now and getting us to stress about the next thing.  Boo.  The problem is, that’s already my natural tendency.  So I was thankful today when I hopped on the elliptical machine at the gym and cracked open Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies which I am reading only for the second time, thank you very much.  There was a poem there, or at least I think it was a poem, by Rumi, Lamott’s favorite Persian mystic.  And it spoke to me.

Keep walking, though there’s no place to get to.

Don’t try to see through the distances. That’s not for human beings.

Move within, but don’t move the way fear makes you move.

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and frightened.

Don’t open the door to the study

and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

But Rumi, I wanted to say, I’m in school! I have to begin reading.  Then I wondered, is there  a way to go about this season of studying where it resembles playing an instrument with abandon and joy more than it resembles shutting myself up in a stuffy room and poring endlessly over dusty books?  Can I accept that I am a human being, and seeing through the distance of the next two years is not for me to even attempt?  I love studying and learning and being around others who love it, too.  During my time at Fuller I want to embrace the beauty I see in learning, and turn it into an act of worship, a sacred bending to the earth and touching my forehead to the ground in reverence and joy.

Let Your Shoulders Down September 9, 2009

Norwegians have this saying about letting your shoulders down.  As in, “I finally finished that article I was writing and now I can let my shoulders down for a few days.”  The Norwegian language is very literal, so when they talk about relaxing, it makes sense to call it what it is: letting the tension leave your body.  Lately I’ve been waking up in the morning with my shoulders up around my ears, erasing my neck so I look like a worried turtle or something.  Not to whine or anything, but it totally sucks to not be able to relax even while sleeping.

Since I’ve been back from Norway, my life has been in constant flux.  My summer in a nutshell: Reverse culture shock.  Live with grandparents, work in Santa Clarita.  Move to Pasadena, work in Pasadena.  Lose job, freak out.  Plans, plans, plans.  Start casually dating a boy.  Best friend’s bridal shower.  Odd subbing jobs here an there.  Occasional meltdowns at the uncertainty of life.  Bachelorette party in Vegas.  Get two new jobs in one week.  Car tire catches on fire and brakes must be replaced. Move apartments; live alone for two weeks for the first time ever.   Best friend gets married.  Freak out about money.  Casually dated boy moves to Oregon.  Start new job.  Last working car door handle breaks off.  Two girls I’ve never met before move in as my roommates. 

I’ve been single for (yikes) 4 years now and in that singleness, especially traveling around the world alone, I’ve started to learn the importance of being a spouse to myself.  Of being my own caretaker and advocate, the one who says, “No, honey, you’ve done enough for one day.  Put your feet up and relax for a little bit” or “Lighten up, babe.  Go have a drink and some fun with your friends.”  That may sound crazy but it’s better than the self-flagellation I’ve tried in other seasons.  But right now, as my own interim spouse, I’m flummoxed.  In all this craziness, I’m not even sure what I need.  A chunk of solid downtime?  A night to let loose with good friends?  An intense kickboxing class?  Answers A, B, and C? 

Also, I’m stressing about my stress.  Just like icing on a cake, right?  Because I’m about to start a brand new season: I’m going to Fuller Theological Seminary to begin my Master of Arts in Theology.  I’m going back to school.  Talk about a life change!  And if I had my way, I would have a few weeks to be peaceful and quiet and reflect on this new approaching season, slowly working through my to-do list to prepare for classes to start.  But instead I’ve been up to my ears in change and busyness and self-inflicted worry.  I expected a few small rapids when I first returned to the States, but then I thought I’d have a lull for most of the summer before I hit the big falls coming in a couple weeks.  Instead, it’s been constant swirling currents and I’ve had to fall asleep with my oar in my hands.

I read an Anne Lamott essay today where she discussed the idea that “when everything starts going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born.”  This summer, it’s been almost impossible for me to focus, to rest, to reflect.  Maybe it’s a good thing that I’ve been distracted, unable to ruminate on every possible scenario, so that whatever’s going to be born in this new season will delight me the way only a surprise can.

Orientation doesn’t start for another 11 days, and classes start a week after that.  So between then and now, I hope that, distracted or not, I’ll have the chance to lay my paddle across my knees, let my shoulders down and float for a bit.

Motion Sickness August 17, 2009

That’s pretty much how I feel.  I moved last weekend…for the third time in less than 4 months.  I guess I didn’t have to move so many times…I didn’t have to move to Pasadena at the beginning of the summer, but I’m still glad I did.  Subletting my friend’s apartment was a good move because that way I’ve been able to get used to living in a new city before I have to get used to being back in school and working a new job. 

I like my change in degrees. 

However, despite my efforts to lessen the pressure of change this summer, my life has been in constant motion since being back from Norway.  Or constant limbo.  Hanging out at my grandparents’ for a month, then at the apartment on Madison for two months, and now my on-campus Fuller apartment. 

Guys, it’s embarrassing how difficult all of this is for me.  I haven’t been able to get my balance this summer, and I almost wish I could just get my sea legs instead.  Just go with it, right? 

Two feelings keep coming to the surface during these days (well, especially during this move): helplessness and loneliness.  I just feel like I NEED so many things: things that cost money, or things that take skills I don’t have to set up or install, or time or emotional energy I just can’t manage to scrape up. 

And dude, there is nothing like moving by yourself to make you feel alone in the world.  Going into your new, empty apartment alone.  Sleeping in it that first night alone.  This isn’t a single girl’s desperate cry, it’s just fact.  I mean, it would be cool just to have a friend around.  Thankfully my sister and brother-in-law helped me a bit on Saturday, and that alleviated the solitary-rowboat-floating-in-an-endless-sea feeling. 

Also I’m an external processor, so I always need to talk about what I’m going through, whether good or bad.  It helps me heaps.  So lately I’ve been missing living on the third floor at Grimerud and pouring out my heart to one of the precious girls who lived there.  (Thanks, Miuky, Matilda, Nina, Dina, Synnove, and Annis for all those times). 

Anyway, I’m just trying to hold onto truth right now and not wallow in self-pity.  Today on his blog Donald Miller posted an essay about self-pity.  How timely!  It wasn’t really anything new but I need to be reminded of those basics. 

I know that this is just a season…a crazy, turbulent season of uncertainty and it, too, will pass.  I’m on a journey, and that means I’m not staying in one place too long.  Hopefully soon I will post this picture, and that will be our little sign that things are looking up.

Ring of Fire August 5, 2009

…so I’ve been having some car problems this week.  It started on Sunday morning, when I was driving up to the very top of Lake Avenue to go hiking.  Suddenly, Ruby (my car) felt like she wasn’t going to make it up the hill.  Strange, I thought, with trepidation in my heart and dollar signs flashing in front of my eyes (the flashing dollar signs thing has been happening a lot lately…you know, with moving and starting grad school in the Fall).  Later that day, I was about a mile away from my house and it started happening again…this time I couldn’t get my car to go past 20 miles an hour.  I kept checking the emergency brake, because it felt like it was on.  By the time I got to my house (and after circling the block to find a parking spot, yay Pasadena!) there was smoke pouring out of my car next to the front passenger tire.  I called my stepdad and tried not to start sobbing as I explained what happened.  He promised to come out from Valencia and check it out that day.  Unfortunately, after I got off the phone I DID start sobbing…is everything I own falling to crap?  First my laptop (remember how it crashed?  and now it keeps acting like it’s about to crash again!) and now my car.  The two most valuable items I own besides my education.  What, is someone from LIFE going to call now and say my degree is a sham?  God forbid.  Anyway, I’m pitifully crying and wander into the bathroom, flip the light switch – the light goes on briefly, flickers, and dies.  That’s when I started laughing.  What’s next?  My pants split at the seam?  My arm falls out of its socket?

Anyway my stepdad Jeff came out to check out my car, and of course it drives completely normally for him.  I wanted to slap Ruby in the face.  What an ornery little car!  Jeff thought I was crazy, making up symptoms.  What’s that disorder where parents make up illnesses for their child in order to get attention?  Yeah, I think he figured I was doing that.  He said the car was perfectly safe to drive, even (at my prodding) on the 210 freeway where I always go through a hilly canyon that has no cell phone reception.  O-kay…

Cut to Tuesday after work.  Ruby has been driving fine until lunchtime, when she started lurching around again like an old lady complaining of aching bones.  Or like the emergency brake was on.  But it wasn’t, believe me, I checked a million times.  So I drive it to Jeff’s work and this time she can’t keep her act together and performs just as miserably for him.  He quickly figures out that the right brake is stuck.  (Dollar signs flash…brake problems are never cheap, are they?)  I noticed the right hubcap is gone and asked Jeff if I had one on Sunday.  When he confirmed that I did, and I confirmed that I had not hit any curbs in the past couple days, Jeff figured that driving with the stuck brake generated enough heat to melt my hubcap off.  Fun!  So Jeff advises that I “limp the car home” and let it cool down so he can look at it later. 

Cut to me “limping the car home.”  I’m at a busy intersection when huge columns of smoke start blowing out from under my car.  Yikes.  I call Jeff to see if I should keep limping or pull over.  As I’m waiting at the light and waiting for Jeff to pick up, in my rearview mirror I see a man jump out of his car and jog over to my passenger side door.  He leans down and says, “Your tire is on fire!”  I figured he’s just thinking, where there’s smoke, there’s fire, so I just said, “I know!”  I mean, what can I do but wait for the light to turn green so I can pull into the nearby parking lot?

So I get smoking little Ruby over to a parking lot and pull into the only space which was unfortunately next to a bunch of other cars.  A girl was sitting in her car with the door open and talking to someone standing outside her car.  At my approach, both jump up and start screaming, “Your tire is on fire!”  The girl tumbles into her car, and guns it across the parking lot into another spot.  Then everyone who was standing in the parking lot runs into the dry cleaner’s, saying something about the car blowing up.  I said, “It’s just smoking!” trying to be reassuring, but the girl (from a safe distance) says, “Ma’am, that’s not smoke…your tire is on fire.”  I go around to the right side of the car and sure enough, the wheel well is full of little leaping flames.  …shit.  After calling the fire department, I thought about all the times I had heard that cars rarely blow up…it’s not like the movies.  So I felt foolish dashing to my car to collect my belongings, but at the same time, what if?  So I tried to nonchalantly but quickly retrieve things from my car – oops, that’s my journal, don’t want to lose that!  Oh, a DVD from the library…don’t want to pay that fine – until I felt okay with standing across the parking lot and waiting for that embarrassing sound of the fire engine’s sirens.

Don’t worry, guys, I’m fine.  Ruby’s having an operation today…all new brakes.  There’s never a good time for that.  What is that I was learning lately about “Acceptance-with-joy”…?

Dr. Joy July 29, 2009

Today I taught my first class ever.  It kind of snuck up on me.  I was told weeks ago I would sub for an English Small Group Instructor (SGI) with my company, at a center in Baldwin Park.  It wasn’t until yesterday when that teacher called me with instructions that I realized I would actually be teaching a class.  Granted, it was only two classes of like 10 students.  But you know what?  I really liked it.  And I think I can do this.  I think I can teach.  Somehow when I’m communicating in front of a group, I open my mouth and all these ideas come out and they surprise me, and even more surprising is that it looks like these teenagers are actually interested in what I’m saying.  I think it’s part of my being an external processor.  I can’t micro-plan for the lesson, because I won’t be able to stick to it.  I just have to know what topic I’m supposed so speak on, grasp the vision or the concept for the lesson, and go with it.  I don’t think I’ll be in the next Dangerous Minds/Freedom Writers type of movie…I’m leaning more toward being a college professor.  Today I was launched into a mini-dream of what life would be like if I was teaching at a university.  In an office with floor to ceiling bookshelves, interesting objects from my world travels, a vintage globe, and a skylight.  I would spend time reading and writing, discussing and debating, taking students under my wing and watching their potential unfurl like little wings, ready to lift them off into the future.  So, maybe not Dangerous Minds, but what about Dead Poets’ Society?  Or I would be cool with being like Julia Roberts in  Mona Lisa Smile.  It’s scary to think of how much schooling I still have to do to get there, but how cool would it be if I was a Doctor?

Fish Out of Water July 17, 2009

There’s a lovely passage near the beginning of A Severe Mercy, when Vanauken is telling the story of the early days of his and Davy’s love:

The walks, especially as the sun got up and began to warm us, were leisurely, full of pauses to talk to a farmer or farmwife.  Sometimes they would have us in for a glass of fresh milk.  Or sometimes we would stop and sit on a wall, eating a sun-warmed tomato, talking or peacefully silent.  Often we talked of the sad and somehow outrageous fact that in most lives, perhaps our own before long, there isn’t time for long walks and sitting on walls.  We quoted a poem by W.H. Davies to the effect that it is a poor life if we have no time “to stop and stare” as sheep and cows do.  We agreed.  Nor were we cheered by the prospect of an occasional day off from an office, for with only one day there would be a sense of time at one’s back, a time too limited to “waste” sitting on walls.  How were we to contrive a life full of time—a timeful life—where we could be quiet and leisurely, where we could stop and stare?

 For days after I read that passage, I kept going back to it in my mind.  That’s the dream, isn’t it?  As much as I love adventure, I love those landing places, when you can be fully present and fully alive.  When that sun-warmed tomato is the best damn tomato you’ve ever eaten in your life.  Van and Davy ended up learning to sail, and taking a yacht out in the Florida Keys, wading knee deep in water, getting “brown as nuts” and spearing lobster for their dinner.  They had, for a little while, that timeful life.

But I have a feeling that this life isn’t meant to be “timeful.”  Time, by nature, is not abundant but scarce.  Time never multiplies, it only decreases.  Every day our time is running out – sometimes one grain of sand at a time but for some of us, the whole hourglass is kicked over and time comes rushing out over the shattered glass. 

C.S. Lewis describes humans’ tense relationship with time, and hints at the idea in Romans of humanity and all of creation groaning and longing for their redemption and a coming into ourselves:

“Do fish complain of the sea being wet?  Or if they did, would not that fact itself not strongly suggest that they had had not always been, or [would] not always be, purely aquatic creatures?  Notice how we are always perpetually surprised at Time.  (“How time flies!  Fancy John being grown up and married!  I can hardly believe it!”) In heaven’s name, why?  Unless, indeed, there is something in us which is not temporal.”

I first read the passage from A Severe Mercy last week, and I tucked those words into a corner of my mind like Charlie and his prized chocolate bar – often going to the corner, slowly peeling back the wrapper, then the foil, allowing myself a little nibble and tasting the melting sweetness of that idea all over again – the idea of a timeful life; of taking long walks outdoors and eating fresh foods and delighting in the company of my companion.  That was last week, when I was working a steady job Monday through Thursday and figured I would do that until I started at Fuller, where I would work and go to school every day and somehow survive until the next busy season, whatever that would be.

But now, suddenly, I’m quasi-unemployed.  I still have my subbing job but I don’t have the regular work.  Last week I was stressing about money and hoarding for the future and dreaming of a timeful life – this week I’m overwhelmed with free time, and also with the knowledge that I lack nothing; it’s now clear the stress and the hoarding were a waste of my energy.  So what’s the moral of this story?  Did I get a timeful life just for the wishing of it?

No, I don’t think that’s what happened.  And I still think that time’s nature does not allow itself to be abundant – for long.  But sometimes the Creator of Time does some fancy footwork and creates these little pockets, these little hollows in time where we get to camp out and rest a while, before going back to the normal state of things, i.e. swimming around and wondering why we’re getting wet and why we can’t take a deep breath under here.

It’s only a matter of time, so to speak, before we’re back on land and there’s no more Sea and no more Time and we can just be, and that will be better even than what we think we’re groaning for now.

Born on the Fourth of July July 7, 2009

Okay, I wasn’t really.  I was actually born on the 3rd of July.  But (Mom, correct me if I’m wrong) the story goes that my due date was July 4th and the doctor didn’t want to do a c-section on the holiday, so my mom had the option of picking the 3rd or the 5th.  How special!  I’m glad she chose the 3rd, though, because otherwise it wouldn’t be so crazy that my license plate has the numbers 7 3 84 in it.  Woah.

Anyway, I turned 25 on Friday, and one thing I can say about my 25 years on this earth: I finally got smart about parties.  See, I love throwing parties.  The more the merrier.  I hosted a couple of epic parties back in college (epic being a relative term when you go to a Bible college where everyone’s signed contracts that they won’t touch alcohol).  The best was at the end of my senior year, when I threw a Peter Pan themed party – fairies, lost boys, pirates, and Indians everywhere.  I was Tiger Lily and got a wicked spray tan.  A bunch of us ended up dancing in the backyard like the lemurs in Madagascar.  Sweet.

Back to my party anxiety.  The during is usually great.  But my freak outs always happen in the moments before, when I’m waiting for the first guests to arrive and wondering if anyone will even show, if anyone at all in the world actually loves me.  Birthdays are the worst, because so many people go out of town for the Fourth, so my guest list is usually pitifully small.  So this year, I wised up.  I decided that a) I didn’t want to worry about who loves me and who doesn’t on my 25th birthday, fully aware that I might already be dealing with monstrous emotions of a quarter-life crisis; and b) I didn’t want a diminished guest list due to the Fourth and also about half of my friends leaving for other countries the first week of July.

So what did I do?  I had two parties, silly!  The Saturday before my birthday I had a bunch of friends meet me at my new (to me) apartment in Pasadena where we had some drinks and some appetizers before heading out to The Cat and Fiddle in Hollywood.  Inside, the Cat was pretty dead, but their courtyard was hopping.  Lots of ivy and twinkle lights and wrought iron made it a good place to chill, although not worth the traffic we had to fight to get there!  Good times with fun friends.

Then on Friday, my actual birthday, I had a little barbeque with just my family and my “other family”, the Rays.  It was so fun because I was totally relaxed.  I didn’t have to worry about how I looked or who came or how much food we had.  It was so good to spend quality time with people I love and who love me.  So, it’s good to know that while I am older, I’m a bit wiser too.

Now on to the juicy stuff…I know you’re dying to ask if I am going through a quarter-life crisis.  As dumb as that sounds…I kind of am.  I think.  I don’t know.  I do know that I’ve been having a lot of feelings lately – such strong emotions that I don’t know how to deal with so I tend to just try to shut them off or drown them out.  Healthy, right?  Oh, and every time I see a baby now, my womb hurts.  Hee.  Totally kidding about that one.  Although, I am way more aware now of my utter singleness.  I never thought I would be 25 and not even dating anyone.  I know that there’s people reading this thinking, “Why, she’s just a baby!” and others thinking, “Yeesh, 25?  She should join eHarmony or something.”  I remember being 20 and seeing 25 year old friends get married, thinking that they found love “later in life.”  Oh ho, how foolish I was.

To round out these ramblings I thought I would share a quote I read on Greg Boyd’s blog that goes along with the Fourth of July theme and made me think:

Greg Boyd, on Steven Russell’s Overcoming Evil

He [Russell] notes that empires rise and fall with remarkable speed, even those such as Assyria and Babylon who, at the height of their power, seemed utterly invincible. Babylon’s mighty reign lasted less than a century, as did the empire of modern day communist Russia. We Americans are now the reigning empire, and, as with all previous empires, we trust in our power and wealth to keep us secure. (In fact, as with all previous empires, we interpret our power and wealth as a blessing from God/the gods). We must remember that this has been the arrogant mindset of all empires just prior to their falls from power.

In this light, Russell concludes, “Who imagined the fall of the Soviet Union would come a short seven decades after its founding and rapid rise in power? And who among us knows what God has in store for our nation or any other? But His purpose is good, and if we choose to become part of His plan, even our deaths will be victorious” (72-73).

Wise words. I encourage you to put no trust in the power and wealth of America (or whatever country you happen to live in). The only real security is in Yaweh and living his way, as revealed in Jesus Christ.

Even if it means you die.

Okay, maybe not terribly cheery or patriotic, but these are wise words.  Often in Europe I thought about what it would be like to be one of those smaller, albeit developed and thriving, countries.  Prior to the election, Norwegians would eagerly ask my opinion on the race, declaring that “America’s president is our president.”  How crazy will it be when America is in that position with another nation overshadowing her?

Holding Things Loosely June 29, 2009

So, the most awful thing happened to me the other day.  The hard drive on my Macbook crashed.  My great little black badass of a Macbook, that’s been a trooper as I’ve carted him all over the world the past two and a half years.  It was terrible when I realized that I had lost everything – my poems and articles and free writing pieces; my resources from my time with YWAM; and all my pictures.  Hundreds and hundreds of photos from over 15 countries and a thousand faces and a million experiences.  Even typing this now makes my heart hurt a little bit.

But.  On Saturday, even as I was reeling from my loss, something inside me spoke calmly and firmly: “This is not true loss.”  I was quietly aware of all of the things I still had to be thankful for.  I didn’t want to be some weird Stepford wife Christian robot, mechanically mouthing the words, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.”  But I truly did feel grateful.  I thought about the fact that I still had a laptop.  That I have a creative mind that will create new pieces and poems.  That even though I don’t have the pictures to prove it, I still have 2 years of God-given adventures that have left their mark on my memory, on my character, and on my future.

Yesterday I read in Oswald Chamber’s My Utmost For His Highest these words, so fitting for my situation:

“Our personal property and possessions are to be a matter of indifference to us, and our hold on these things should be very loose.  If this is not the case, we will have panic, heartache, and distress.”

Sometimes I hate how cold Chambers comes across, but the man’s got it right.  It reminds me of Jesus’ story about the guy that stocks up all his treasure and gets all satisfied with himself and then finds out he’s going to die that very night.  Then what will he do with all of his stuff? 

So, I’m not glad that my hard drive crashed, and I’m not very happy with myself for thinking I’m immune to such things and not backing up my stuff like EVERYONE tells you to.  But I am so thankful that I am not my writing, or my pictures, or my things – those don’t make up me and they don’t make up my life.

So I guess it wasn’t the most awful thing that could have happened to me.  I guess I’m thankful for the chance to learn to hold things more loosely, because it saves me from more heartache down the road.

A Wee Adventure April 19, 2009

Speaking of going out of my comfort zone, I took a little jaunt even further outside last week when I went on holiday to Ireland and Sweden.  On my way to Ireland I was thinking, “What the heck am I doing?”  I was taking two planes to get there, only to be greeted by a friend I haven’t seen in 2 ½ years, a guy I knew for a summer while working at camp together.  When I last saw Jamie, he was an athletic, outgoing, warm-hearted 19-year old.  A few weeks after he returned to the U.K. he broke his back playing rugby and is now confined to a wheelchair.  What would that be like?  Everything about the trip was a huge unknown and I wondered if I should have stayed back at Grimerud and had a safe and koselig little Easter holiday there.

 

But, yet again, God surprised me!  Looking back it seems to me that He wanted to give me that trip to Ireland as a little gift, wrapped up in emerald paper and smelling of the sea.  Jamie and I had so much fun together, and his parents were amazing, generous, hospitable people.  Every morning I got up before Jamie and had breakfast with his parents, having great long talks with his mom. 

 

On Easter Sunday we went to his church where I was greeted so warmly and we rocked the house celebrating that Jesus is alive, complete with dancing and party poppers.  We hung out in Belfast and saw Fifty Dead Men Walking, a film about The Troubles in Ireland that was totally violent but really interesting and helped me get an idea of what was going on in the country only a few decades ago.  I drank a half-pint of Guiness in a real Irish pub with copper kettles hanging from the ceiling and dozens of people singing along to old Irish songs. 

 

My favorite day was when we drove up to the North Coast of Northern Ireland with Jamie’s sweet friend Jenny Lee and toured a castle that made me feel like Lucy in Prince Caspian, exploring the ruins of Cair Paravel. We marveled at the natural beauty of Giant’s Causeway and couldn’t get over the amazing weather as we waited to cross the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge.  We took the train down to Dublin with Jenny Lee and Jamie’s friend Steven and had a great time despite crap weather, and spent the afternoon in a heated theological discussion (love it) in Temple Bar. 

 

I had the best tea of my life every day, and I loved how when I ordered tea at a café they always gave a whole teapot – two cups for the price of one!  I loved hearing Irish accents everywhere – the low, soothing tone; the lilting rhythm of it; the way they really do say “wee” all the time…even the guys! 

 

Hanging out with Jamie again was so cool, and not only because he’s totally fun and hilarious.  Jamie’s unshakable belief in God’s promises was an absolute inspiration to me.  He’s in an awful situation but is not pitying himself.  Instead he is going on with his life and always believing that Jesus will heal him and he will walk again.  I was so moved by his faith, and so humbled when I thought of how I would respond in such a situation – probably crying and sighing a lot and feeling bitter toward God and everyone else.

 

Of course I left Jamie a little thank you note before I left, but in case he ever reads this blog, I just want to say, Thank you Jamie.  You were an amazing host and I had a fantastic time.  You are welcome back to California any time. 

 

But mostly, I just want to thank my Father, God, for yet again surprising me with a little gift, just another dream come true from His heart to mine.  He totally patiently leads me out of my comfort zone to experience His love and be astounded by it in new ways.

Dunluce Castle on the North Coast (aka ruins of Cair Paravel)

Me and Jamie.  Near Giant’s Causeway.  Do you see the camel in the mountain between us?

Jenny Lee and I at Giant’s Causeway.  Those “cobblestones” are naturally formed!

In Dublin with Jamie and his friend Steven (who started said heated theological discussion).  They filmed a scene from “Once” in this park.

Queen’s University in Belfast, Northern Ireland

The Temple Bar in Temple Bar, where, due to an unfortunate misunderstanding, I was bought a Coors Light instead of a Stella.  Boo.